


Ego

by minbins



Series: 3RACHAverse [2]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: (Mentioned) Groupie Hyunjin, Alternate Universe - Only 3RACHA Famous, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Begging, Consensual Sex, DO NOT REPOST MY WORKS I DO NOT CONSENT TO REPOSTING, Explicit Consent, Groupie Minho, Hickeys, M/M, Minho is Changbin's fan, More tags to be added, Nipple Piercings, Oral Sex, Riding, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Strength Kink, Strongly Implied FWB 3RACHA (though not full scene), backstage sex, handjobs, i'm right and i should say it, it's minbin what do you expect, minbin verse switches, overuse of terrible sex puns, safe sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 00:48:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21578650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minbins/pseuds/minbins
Summary: It feels horribly superficial to think to himself that this is what makes all the hard work worth it, but Changbin has a man who could easily be a model in his dressing room, blushing under Changbin’s gaze, and he can’thelpbut think it.
Relationships: Lee Minho | Lee Know/Seo Changbin
Series: 3RACHAverse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1611688
Comments: 116
Kudos: 799





	1. Favourite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dominho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dominho/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, screaming into the void: ok so i wrote a minbin fic

3RACHA aren’t famous yet, but they’re getting there. Their once small fan base has grown exponentially, and they’re selling out every grimy venue they play at. The more they sell them out, the less grimy they get, and tonight’s is actually nicer than usual. Changbin has managed to get a dressing room away from Chan and Jisung, for one. That’s always a rarity, and one Changbin has been happily surprised with tonight. Chan has been taking advantage of the private room away from his groupmates, it seems, if the confused pretty boy looking around the hallway says anything. Changbin isn’t sure how Chan has managed to misplace whichever lucky groupie he’s brought backstage, but he takes pity on how obviously lost he is. 

“You okay, there?” he asks, walking over to the man — he sees that he _is_ a man, maybe older than Changbin, even. The man’s eyes widen near-comically at the sight of Changbin, and he won’t pretend that does nothing to his ego.

“Y-You’re, y-y-you’re, I-” the pretty man stammers. Changbin isn’t really sure who else he was expecting to see backstage after a 3RACHA gig, but it’s adorable how starstruck he seems. It’s more often the others that face the brunt of awed fans, and it’s sweet that Chan’s groupie likes him this much too. He’s not sure why he’s so in awe of Changbin if he’s already been pulled backstage to get fucked by Chan, but Changbin appreciates it nonetheless. He’s really, _really_ cute, and Changbin’s more than a little jealous of Chan, if he’s honest. 

“Did someone let you back here?” Changbin checks, just in case he’s accidentally eyeing up a lost member of the stage crew. _He isn’t. He remembers now— this guy had been in the third row, had known all the words. Even Changbin’s._

“Yeah, uh,” the man says, visibly trying to control his breathing. “Yeah, CB- I, I mean, sorry. Nervous.” _So, so cute._ “Chan let me back here.”

“And he just left you?” Changbin asks, incredulous as to why _anyone_ would leave this god of a man alone once they had a chance with them. Sure, he’s a fan, but they’re hardly big enough of a deal for _that_ to be much of an issue. Changbin is used to his groupmates enjoying their popularity and letting pretty people backstage. He doesn’t think anything of it, besides the slight pang of jealousy in this case. “Come on,” he says, moving closer and tugging at the guy’s sleeve to guide him. “I’ll help you find Chan.”

“Wait!” the man says, staying still as Changbin tries to take him to find his groupmate. “I, uh. God, this is embarrassing.”

Changbin is very confused. “What’s wrong?” he asks. The man is shaking with nerves about whatever words he’s trying to get out, seeming unable to meet Changbin’s eyes. 

“He, uh, Chan, I mean. He let me back cause I said I wanted to meet _you._ He’s with, uh, he’s busy with my friend right now.”

So, Chan had let some poor fan backstage, dragged his friend off to fuck and just _left_ this guy to wander around without anyone showing him the way? Changbin needs to have words with Chan, but right now his brain is catching up on the rest of what the man had said. This guy isn’t one of Chan’s groupies— no, he’s apparently _Changbin’s._ Shit. 

He would be mad at Chan, _should_ be mad at Chan, for waving a random stranger backstage to find Changbin without even checking if Changbin is okay with that. However, this is the prettiest person that Changbin has ever seen, and even if he’s back here for innocent conversation Changbin is just proud of himself that this man likes him over the others. Changbin doesn’t really do this. It’s more of Chan’s thing by far, occasionally Jisung’s, but not Changbin’s.

And, sure, Changbin doesn’t ever do this. But, for _this_ man, he decides to make an exception. “What’s your name?” 

The man catches Changbin quite openly checking him out now that he’s realised he isn’t one of Chan’s never-ending stream of hookups. Changbin smiles at him, cheeks flushing a little as he’s caught. It seems to calm the man a little, the fact he’s affecting Changbin. He smiles, too (and somehow grows even prettier). When he speaks, it’s less shaky, though the meeting-his-idol nerves are still there in his tone. “Minho,” he replies. “My name’s Minho.”

“Same age?” Changbin asks, assuming that Minho must know Changbin’s if he’s as much of a fan as he seems to be. 

“Year older,” Minho tells him. Changbin had been right about Minho knowing his age, so it seems. “You can call me hyung, if you want,” he offers up with a smile that’s half nervous and half terrifyingly attractive. There’s an edge to his voice that Changbin recognises even though it’s been a while. This fan is _definitely_ flirting with Changbin.

“Can I, now?” Changbin says, amused. _Fuck it._ He throws caution to the wind. “Do you want to come back to my dressing room, _hyung?”_ he asks, making sure to watch Minho as he emphasises the title. 

Minho’s breath audibly catches in his throat, loud enough for Changbin to easily hear stood beside him. He gulps, also audibly, and nods. “What should I call _you?”_

“If you start using my stage name I _will_ have you escorted out,” Changbin warns, being sure to smile so that it’s obvious that he’s joking, mostly. It’s all well and good having fans yelling his stage name during the gig, but off the stage it’s not a title he wants as his go-to. “You can just call me Changbin. C’mon— this way.”

Minho trails after him as Changbin heads back down the hallway to his dressing room. It’s not much at all, as much as one would expect for a member of a slowly on the rise rap trio, but they can both fit into it. There’s a dressing table and a mirror, and a swivel chair that had turned out to be broken when Changbin had tried sitting on it earlier. He’d done his makeup standing up, chair pushed into the corner. Not a tonne, just enough to highlight his eyes. Minho seems to like it, if the way he’s staring at Changbin is any indication. Boldly, the most confident he’s seemed so far, Minho shuts the door behind them. 

Changbin won’t lie to himself— he’s a little (read: very) nervous about this too. This is seriously Chan’s thing. Changbin hasn’t ever actually done anything with a fan — he’s no virgin in general, not by any means, but with someone who’s his _fan?_ Chan should have texted him some tips before pushing Minho in his direction, Changbin thinks to himself. He supposes he’ll just have to figure this out as he goes along. 

Trying to seem casual, Changbin hops up to sit on the dressing table, but misjudges the height and slides back off it. Blushing, he manages it the second time, glad that Minho still seems in awe of him enough that he doesn’t call him out on the embarrassing action. “Have you liked us long?” Changbin asks, eyes lingering on Minho’s sculpted features, the cheekbones that could practically cut glass. It feels horribly superficial to think to himself that this is what makes all the hard work worth it, but Changbin has a man who could easily be a model in his dressing room, blushing under Changbin’s gaze, and he can’t _help_ but think it. 

“Yeah, for a while,” Minho replies, hovering awkwardly like he doesn’t know where to stand. “You’ve always been my favourite,” he adds, seeming to force himself to meet Changbin’s eyes. It’s like his nerves and how much he wants to look at the rapper are fighting it out, and the latter is winning by a bare minimum margin. 

“Why?” Changbin asks, and it’s less narcissistic than it is genuine curiosity. Chan and Jisung’s fans are always that little more vocal, but Changbin thinks that maybe just one fan like Minho could be enough. 

“You’re just _captivating_ when you’re on stage,” Minho replies. “You can hear it in the tracks, too, how much you put your all into the music. I was drawn to it from the start.” Minho’s eyes are sparkling like Changbin has hung the stars within them, and Changbin doesn’t want to disappoint him. It’s a thin line to toe, the one on which Changbin finds himself teetering. He’s in a position of power, here, what with Minho’s admiration of 3RACHA. Changbin can’t jeopardise that trust just because Minho is so, _so_ pretty.

Minho steps a little closer to Changbin, and the room is so small that that one step has Minho stood brushing slightly against Changbin’s legs where they swing over the edge of his dressing table. Changbin catches his hand as it starts to wander a little, Minho’s fingertips dancing up Changbin’s thigh, but doesn’t push him away. “You know I’m happy to talk to you either way?” Changbin checks. “I won’t kick you out— I’m happy to just sit and talk about music, if that’s all you want.”

“Is that all _you_ want?” Minho asks, tilting his head and observing Changbin’s response with staggering focus. Something tells Changbin that Minho knows it isn’t.

“That isn’t the issue here.”

“And the other ‘options’?...” Minho trails off, raising an eyebrow. “What if I do want those?”

“Well,” Changbin’s voice is already a bit raspy from the show, but it comes out a little choked on top of that. Minho smiles— Minho _knows_. “That’s up to you.”

“So, if I wanted to, say — hypothetically, of course—, get on my knees right now?” Minho asks, so casually that he could well have been asking Changbin about the weather. “That’d be up to me, would it?”

Changbin’s tongue feels heavy in his mouth. He nods. 

“I don’t have anything on me,” he says, remembering. “I don’t normally, uh...”

Minho looks oddly pleased to discover that. “You don’t? I’ve heard about CB and Han getting around, but I figured you were just more discreet.”

“If by discreet you mean you’re the first fan I’ve had backstage, then sure, I’m discreet,” Changbin laughs awkwardly. 

“Damn,” Minho whistles, “I should send Chan a thank you card for letting me in, huh? Would _you_ have let me, or is it just because I was already back here?”

Changbin looks at him, _really_ looks at him, and Minho watches him right back with the unashamed gaze of someone who knows that they’re pretty. “Yeah,” he replies after a moment to consider, “I think I would have.”

Minho’s face lights up, breaking into a full smile that’s near-blinding in its beauty. His hands have resumed inching up Changbin’s thighs, now, and he halts as he reaches the top of his jeans. Changbin wonders if he’s done something wrong when Minho pulls away, but it turns out it’s just to fish a foil sachet from his back pocket. “What?” Minho says defensively as Changbin watches him. “Can’t a guy come prepared?”

“You were planning this, were you, hyung?”

“Well, Hyunjin was more than me, but I figured I should bring stuff just in case I managed to weasel backstage with him. Guess it’s good I did,” Minho remarks, gesturing to Changbin in front of him. “Get to be the first groupie to suck SpearB’s dick.” He says it so casually that Changbin gasps, and Minho giggles. “Well—” he shrugs, “am I wrong?”

As confident as Minho sounds, he still freezes up a little when Changbin reaches out and cups his cheek. “I was hoping I might get to kiss you first,” Changbin says, and wonders if he’s doing this whole hooking-up-with-a-fan thing wrong when Minho looks surprised. “What, did you expect me to just push you on your knees the second you got into my dressing room?”

“Kinda?” Minho admits, fidgeting a little. “Haven’t exactly made a habit of the whole groupie thing myself, so I’ve only heard Hyunjin telling me about what he gets up to.”

“Same with Chan,” Changbin laughs, “but I try to tune him out. Look at us, bonding over our slutty friends. Chan has his work cut out for him, by the sounds of it.”

Minho steps closer, pushing Changbin’s thighs a little further apart so that he can stand between them. “Are you gonna keep talking about our friends,” he asks, “or are you gonna kiss me?”

“Hmm…” Changbin hums, leaning closer and watching Minho tense at their proximity, drawing it out. “Both are tempting.”

“Remind me why you’re my favourite, again?” Minho jokes, though it carries little weight with how his voice shakes in anticipation. 

“Well, if you insist,” Changbin smiles, finally giving in and leaning down to kiss him. Minho is considerably taller than him, so Changbin is glad he’s sitting on the counter. He’s happier still with their position when Minho’s hands grip at his thighs, tightening as Changbin’s lips meet his. Changbin is careful at first, making sure that Minho really wants to kiss him, but Minho appears to find his hesitation unnecessary, crowding closer and urging Changbin to deepen the kiss with soft whines against his lips. He’s so pretty, so unbelievably pretty that Changbin can’t seem to help but go along with whatever Minho asks of him. 

When Changbin’s hand moves to pull Minho’s hair as he kisses him, Minho moans into his mouth, the hands on Changbin’s thighs _tugging_ so that he finds himself pulled right to the edge of the dressing table. Minho’s hands wander further then, groping at his waist with one and ghosting over his zipper with the other. Changbin pulls Minho’s head back by his hair, giving up kissing him for the sake of mouthing along his perfect jawline, lips trailing down his neck. He nips lightly at his skin, pausing in an unspoken question that Minho is quick to answer. “You can,” he tells Changbin, groaning as Changbin immediately sets about sucking a dark bruise onto the side of his neck. _“Fuck,_ I can’t believe this is really happening.”

Neither can Changbin, if he’s honest. He lets out an embarrassingly high pitched whine as Minho’s hand pushes down harder against the growing bulge in his jeans, and Minho laughs lightly. “What?” Changbin asks, because someone _laughing_ doesn’t tend to instill confidence when you’re hooking up with them. 

“Nothing bad!” Minho hastens to reassure him, leaning back so that Changbin can see his face, see that he means it. “I just didn’t expect you to be so _cute.”_

Okay, Changbin will give him that. “Yeah,” he says, admiring the large hickey now adorning Minho’s neck. “I get that a lot.” He pauses, hesitant to ask. “Do you mind that? That I’m less ‘SpearB’ offstage?”

“Not at all,” Minho promises, popping open the button at the top of Changbin’s jeans as he leans in and kisses him again. “You being intimidating on stage is hot as hell, don’t get me wrong,” he adds, “but this side of you is just as attractive. Can I blow you now, though?”

Changbin chokes on air. He thinks that Minho may well kill him before the evening is through. Still, he nods. “Only if you want to,” he reminds him.

Minho rolls his eyes. “Let me think,” he muses sarcastically, dropping to his knees with a dancer’s fluidity. He could well be a dancer, for all Changbin knows about him. “Do I want to suck off my favourite rapper?...” he hums, tugging Changbin’s jeans down enough to pull his boxers down with them. There’s that brief moment of insecurity, the kind most people get when people see them semi-naked for the first time, but Changbin is reassured by the hungry way Minho is looking at him. “God,” Minho says, tearing the corner of the condom sachet with his teeth. “I am _so_ getting that in my mouth immediately.”

This whole evening is a boost to Changbin’s ego that he’s not sure he’ll ever come down from. 

“Fuck, hyung,” he hisses out, groaning as Minho rolls the condom onto his dick. Looking down at him, he’s still in shock that someone like Minho wants him so much. “You’re so fucking pretty.”

“Like me on my knees?” Minho asks, tone far too coy for someone about to suck Changbin off in a dingy dressing room. He doesn’t really know how to respond to that other than embarrassing himself, so he reaches down to thread his fingers through Minho’s soft hair instead. Minho sighs, leaning into the touch like a cat. “Can I?” he moves closer, close enough that Changbin can feel him breathing. “Please, fuck, _please._ Want you in my mouth so bad, baby.”

The name slips out without Minho seeming to realise he’s said it, until he freezes a little, looking up at Changbin as if to check if he’s fucked up. When Changbin just nods shakily, pushing Minho forward a little with the hand on his head, Minho relaxes. “Go ahead, hyung,” Changbin tells him, pushing back the rising urge to beg. 

Minho doesn’t need telling twice, tongue darting out and kitten-licking the head of Changbin’s cock the second he’s given the go ahead. He smiles like he’s in heaven, moving then to swirl his tongue around it, mouthing down the full length with open mouthed kisses that have Changbin gasping and pulling tighter at Minho’s hair. _He’s absolutely teasing him, but Changbin doesn’t mind in the slightest._ From the way Minho groans, the sound vibrating a little against Changbin’s dick where his lips are still touching him, Changbin is reminded of just how much Minho had liked Changbin pulling his hair when they were kissing. Deliberately, he yanks at it a little harder, and Minho moans again. “Fuck, baby,” he gasps, pulling back from kissing Changbin’s cock to speak. “Keep doing that.”

“How about,” Changbin offers, “you _actually_ start blowing me, and I’ll keep pulling your hair— does that sound good, hyung? Or perhaps you’d rather keep teasing...”

Rather than answer, or own up to the fact he’s been deliberately teasing Changbin, Minho rises to the provocation in his words, immediately wrapping his lips around the tip of his dick. This time, he doesn’t pull away to tease him, but moves a little further down, bobbing his head and looking up at Changbin through his lashes challengingly. As promised, Changbin pulls his hair again, hissing as Minho moans around his cock. Though it’s harder to do so with his mouth full, Minho still somehow manages to look smug as he sinks down still further with each bob of his head. When he finally has all of Changbin’s dick in his mouth, he chokes a little around him, but holds himself there for a moment, coughing when he pulls off. “I don’t get how you’re allowed to be that talented _and_ have a dick this nice,” Minho says, wrapping his fingers around Changbin and looking at him in his hand. “Like, cmon,” he complains, “save something for the rest of us.”

“Are you trying to give me an ego?” Changbin laughs, though his voice cracks a little as Minho licks over the head of his cock again.

“Please,” Minho scoffs, jerking Changbin off and watching his face as he does so. It’s a little unnerving, how intense his gaze is, but Minho looking at him like that only turns Changbin on all the more. “I’ve seen you on stage.” He kisses the head of Changbin’s cock, smiling at the whimper it elicits despite Changbin’s best efforts to hide it. “I know you already have an ego, baby.” Changbin’s hips buck against Minho’s hand at the petname, and Minho raises an eyebrow, though doesn’t comment on it. “You deserve one, though. If anyone does, it’s you.”

Changbin must be doing something right, for Minho to love his work this much. 

“Wish we had longer,” Minho says, mostly to himself, thinking out loud. He looks down at Changbin’s dick, and honest-to-God _pouts._ “Wanna sit on this so bad.”

“Holy fuck,” Changbin breathes out, the visual Minho has just put in his head almost too much for him to cope with. “Fucking _hell,_ hyung.”

Minho shrugs, though his feigned unaffectedness is ruined by how deeply he’s blushing. “I do,” he says, “but this is, well. Gonna have wet dreams about this for months.” Changbin lets out a choked, stuttered moan, and Minho looks more than pleased with himself. “You’re so hot like this, baby,” he tells him, eyes dark as he looks back up at Changbin above him. Changbin’s hand shakes where he’s steadying himself on the counter, and the hand in Minho’s hair must be shaking too, for his expression grows still more self-satisfied. “God, wanna see you fall apart.”

“Gonna make me then, hyung?” Changbin goads, voice embarrassingly strained. “Or are you not up for the challenge?”

“Going there, huh?” Minho replies, a look on his face that is more than a little terrifying. Changbin wonders what he’s just gotten himself into. “Your funeral.”

Minho breathing in deeply should have really warned him, but Changbin is still startled when Minho swallows him down completely. His hand tightens in Minho’s hair again, and it’s not even deliberate this time— Changbin is just overwhelmed and grasping at anything that will ground him. He can’t even look at Minho right now, so inundated with pleasure that the sight of Minho going down on him would be enough to send him right over the edge. Hollowing his lips around him, Minho moves almost completely off Changbin’s dick before sinking right back down to the base, repeating the movement until Changbin is a whining mess beneath him, knuckles white where he’s holding onto the dressing table and head thrown back. If Minho wanted to see him fall apart, he’s soon going to get his wish.

Changbin has mostly been able to hold back from fucking Minho’s mouth so far, as much as every particle of his being is screaming at him to do so. Minho, however, doesn’t seem best pleased about that fact, physically grabbing at Changbin’s hips and urging them forwards. Still overly careful, just in case he’s reading Minho wrong — it is, after all, difficult to accurately convey intent when your mouth is otherwise occupied — Changbin shallowly thrusts forward. In response, Minho moans around him again, and then lets his mouth hang open, tongue lolling out and grabbing at Changbin’s thighs until he looks down. Minho is still watching him with that intimidatingly focused look on his face, and he stays knelt there unmoving, waiting on Changbin. With Minho’s hold on his thighs vice-like, to the point where Changbin is pretty sure he’ll be left with bruises by the end of the evening, Changbin stops relying on the dressing table to keep him balanced. Instead, he tangles both hands in Minho’s hair. 

It’s hard to speak right now, but Changbin makes the effort, breathing heavily but somewhat coherent. “You want me to fuck your mouth, hyung?” he asks, and Minho gives him a look that cannot be translated as anything other than _duh_. “And, if you need me to stop?” 

Minho taps hard against Changbin’s left thigh, presumably to show that he’s more than capable of indicating to Changbin that he wants him to stop. Changbin, however, moans at the unexpected jolt of dull pain, hips canting forward a little, and Minho’s eyes grow darker still. Closing his eyes to stop himself from coming before he can even do what Minho so clearly wants of him, Changbin pulls hard at Minho’s hair as he starts building up a rhythm, fucking into his willing mouth with increasing speed. “Fuck, hyung,” he groans, still dizzied by the fact that starting out as a SoundCloud rapper had led him here, to Minho on his knees and urging Changbin to use him. 

Changbin’s voice tends to get whinier when he’s near to coming, and this is no exception, hips stuttering as he groans out a pitchy _please, hyung, fuck, so close_ that’s so stammered that it’s barely legible. Minho, in response to that, does the opposite of what Changbin wants. He holds his hips back from their shaky thrusts and pulls off him completely.

“Wh-” Changbin starts to ask, eyes still scrunched shut, and he’s cut off by his own moan as Minho digs his fingertips harshly into the sensitive part of Changbin’s thighs to get his attention.

“Changbin.” Minho’s voice is hoarse, so obviously fucked out that it makes Changbin’s head spin just to hear it. _He’d_ done that, made Minho sound that way. “Changbin, _look at me.”_

Changbin can’t seem to help but obey, his eyes fluttering open and arousal hitting him like a punch to the gut when he sees Minho looking right back at him. More specifically, it’s how Minho doesn’t just _sound_ fucked out, but looks it, too. His eyes are watering, his lips swollen and spit-splick, yet he’s terrifyingly beautiful just the same, if not even more so than before. _“Fuck.”_ Changbin wishes he could think up something more coherent, but he really can’t. He’s pretty sure Minho has just sucked out his soul.

“Gonna come for me, baby?” Minho asks, like Changbin hadn’t been just about to moments before.

“Yes,” Changbin says. Pauses. There’s something in Minho’s expression that Changbin can’t shy away from. “Please,” he adds. He can’t help it. “Fuck, _please,_ hyung.”

“Watch,” Minho tells him. It’s not a request, but an order that Changbin feels compelled to obey. “Eyes on me, baby. I want to see you come.”

Changbin dimly wonders how the _fuck_ his fan is this hot, but at this point he takes it in his stride. “I will,” he promises, something strange stirring in his stomach at how pleased Minho looks with his compliance. 

“Good,” Minho replies, and Changbin doesn’t have time to really process how that word makes him feel before Minho is back on him. No longer remotely in control of their movements, not fucking Minho’s mouth but held down by the grip Minho has on his thighs as he swallows him down, Changbin can only stammer incoherent curses as he forces himself to keep watching. The urge to screw his eyes shut from the overwhelming _everything_ that he’s feeling right now is strong, but the need to do what Minho says is stronger still. 

He’d been close when Minho had pulled away, so it takes a near-embarrassingly short amount of time before Changbin is crying out, trembling against the hands holding him down against the dressing table. As promised, he’s looking right at Minho when he comes, gasping out his name as he does so, and it’s one of the most unnervingly hot experiences of his life. It’s like Minho can see right into his soul as he watches him fall apart, eyes dark and far too pretty for Changbin’s continued health.

As intimidating as Minho is in those moments, he’s adorable in equal measure as the adrenaline wears off and he realises precisely what he’s done. “Oh fuck,” he says dazedly, hand coming up to cover his swollen mouth. “I just sucked SpearB’s dick.”

Changbin cringes. “Please do _not_ call me by my stage name right after you’ve made me come, hyung,” he pleads, wincing a little from overstimulation as he pulls the condom off, chucking it into the bin under the table once he’s tied it. Minho still looks so cutely shocked that Changbin can’t help but tug him up off the floor to kiss him. His legs are a little shaky from kneeling, and he stumbles against Changbin, making Changbin giggle into the kiss and immediately regret it. “You didn’t hear that,” he tries to say, but Minho is kissing him again and it kind of gets lost along the way. 

“I absolutely heard it,” Minho mumbles against Changbin’s lips a while later, long enough that Changbin has almost forgotten that he giggled at all, “but you being cute isn’t a bad thing, remember?”

“Can I get you off?” Changbin asks, as blunt as Minho asking to suck his dick earlier on. Minho’s reaction is priceless, mouth falling open into a pretty _O_ shape as if he can’t quite believe Changbin’s words. 

“You want to?” Minho replies, adorably thrown by Changbin’s question. 

Changbin nods. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I mean, you’re you, and it’s like a wet dream come true for me to suck you off, but I’ve gotten you off now, and I’m just a fan, and you really don’t need t-” Minho rambles, words coming out in a string so fast-paced that Changbin’s hard pressed to keep up with him. To shut him up, Changbin kisses him again, easily switching their positions so that Minho’s the one pushed up against the edge of the dressing table. When he deepens the kiss, there’s an artificial strawberry taste from the flavoured condom, but Changbin hardly minds it. It’s a reminder of this deity of a man going down on him, after all.

“Fan of mine or not,” Changbin says, watching Minho’s chest rise and fall, slimmer frame caged between Changbin’s arms despite their height difference, “I’m not an asshole who’s gonna get a blowie and kick you out with nothing.”

“I didn’t want to _assume,”_ Minho fidgets cutely, the fanboy side coming back out now he’s not focusing on ruining Changbin. 

“Do you want me to, though?”

“Of course I do, you’re the hottest guy I’ve ever hooked up with,” Minho replies immediately, and Changbin hopes that at least part of that is due to his looks and not just that Minho’s a fan of his. “I don’t have another flavoured one, though.”

“There’s other ways,” Changbin points out, hand skirting over the waistband of Minho’s jeans. “Can I?”

Changbin feels a little bad only offering a handjob after what Minho’s just done, but he also isn’t going down on him with a condom not designed for oral. He’s made that mistake before, and even Minho’s attractiveness isn’t enough to make him do so again. Minho seems happy enough with this, though, with Changbin’s hand down his pants jerking him off as he sucks another hickey onto his prettily arched neck, and then another where his collarbones peek out from his low-necked shirt. 

Someone knocks on the door— Jisung, they learn as he calls through asking if Changbin’s done yet. Changbin, hand stilling just for a moment, tells him to fuck off and that they’ll be out in a minute. The footsteps retreat, and Minho raises an eyebrow. “A minute, huh?”

“Yeah,” Changbin replies, and Minho’s eyes barely have time to widen at the confidence in his tone before the hand Changbin doesn’t have wrapped around Minho’s cock moves to his hair. Pulling harshly at it with one hand — which is enough to make him moan in itself — Changbin speeds up the pace of his other on Minho’s dick, biting another bruise onto the pretty man’s neck as he whines, spilling all over Changbin’s hand soon after. Changbin pants a little, smiling while he leans back to admire his handiwork, wiping Minho’s cum off his hand as he does so. “See?” he says, more than slightly smug. “A minute.”

“Told you that you had an ego,” Minho retorts, wiping the remnants of his release with the tissue Changbin offers him before tucking himself back into his jeans with a wince. 

“As I recall,” Changbin bites back playfully, “you told me that I deserve it.”

“And I’m regretting it already,” Minho replies, though as he comes down it’s clear that he’s still a little in awe of him. The words don’t cut as deep as they would were Minho still in his ruining-Changbin state of mind. They’re tremoring a little, even.

As flattering as it is to be so admired, Changbin doesn’t want Minho to treat him as something ‘other’, and tries to coax him back into the rapport they’d built up as they leave his dressing room. Unfortunately, Jisung hasn’t gone far, and hurries back to Changbin near immediately. “We gotta go, dude,” he tells him, albeit somewhat apologetic. “Don’t wanna piss off the venue, and it’s near their curfew.”

“Okay,” Changbin reluctantly agrees, panicking a little as he sees Minho retreating still further into the way he’d first seen him, all nerves and wide-eyed glances. “Piss off for a minute, Sungie, I’ll catch up with you. Can you tell Chan to send his friend over, too?”

Jisung nods, heading off to find Chan and... Hyunjin? Was that his name?

“You gonna be at the next show?” Changbin asks, trying to put across in his tone just how much he wants that. It seems to work a little, for Minho brightens slightly, looking considerably less fanboy and a little more hopeful.

“You want me to be?”

“I do,” Changbin hurries to say. He hesitates, and then adds the honorific. _“Hyung.”_

“In that case….” Minho smiles as he leans down to press a kiss to Changbin’s cheek. It’s oddly soft given, well, _everything._ Chan comes into the hallway with a dishevelled guy that must be Hyunjin, and Minho hurries off in his direction, though he still turns back for his parting remark. “I’ll see you there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for reading!! i was super nervous abt this one cause it’s my first time writing changbin nsfw and he’s my ult ult bias so [anxiety noises] so if u could pls validate w kudos/comments etc that would be much appreciated 🥺🥺 i’m leaving this pretty open ended because i kinda wanna revisit this universe so if there’s a good response that’s even more likely 💞💘
> 
> [UPDATE: i am weak for minbin,,]
> 
> also thank you to my friends for dealing with me screaming abt this + esp to jackson for helping me see the minbin light
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/scbaes)
> 
> [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/minbinnie)
> 
> thank u again for reading!! 💘
> 
> -v


	2. Make Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re far too hard to say no to, you know that?”
> 
> “Then don’t,” Changbin replies, trying his best not to make it sound like a demand. He only half succeeds. “Doesn’t hyung need me, too?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we minbining!!! (part two)

When Minho doesn’t turn up to the next show, despite having promised Changbin that he would do so, Changbin starts to worry that he’s done something wrong. While thinking back to the time with Minho in his dressing room had been great material for getting off at first, after the no-show gig Changbin begins obsessing over it a little, wondering what he’d done that had made Minho change his mind. He was such a massive fan of the trio, after all, so it _had_ to be Changbin’s fault, right?

“Hey, you’ve sucked my dick,” Changbin says as he walks into the recording studio, hanging up his jacket on the hook by the door. 

“Yeah?” both Chan and Jisung reply. He’d been talking to Jisung, as he hadn’t noticed Chan sprawled on the sofa at first, but he needn’t have specified either way. They both have, after all— while the thought of it would send plenty of their fans feral, it really isn’t particularly deep. They all have eyes, and can tell that their groupmates are attractive, so sometimes they’ve resorted to each other for stress relief when the music-making gets too much. It hasn’t happened recently, given their popularity allows for a wider range of options, but has happened so many times that it’s really no big deal. 

“Why?” Jisung asks, watching with slight concern as Changbin flops down into the chair beside him. 

“There isn’t anything wrong with it, right?”

“Nothing other than the fact you’re attached to it, no,” Jisung replies, dodging as Changbin tries to hit him. 

“What he said,” Chan speaks up, still laying face down. “A+ dick, 10/10 would put in my mouth again.”

Suddenly, Jisung seems to realise something. “Wait,” he pauses, looking Changbin up and down, “is this about that groupie?”

Here, Chan deems the conversation interesting enough, and moves his face from the pile of blankets on the couch. Half sitting up now, he waits for Changbin to reply.

“No!” Changbin says at once, but it’s too fast a response. They’ve known him for years, and can easily catch him in a lie by now.

“So it is,” Chan interjects. “Did he insult your dick, or something? We can get him blacklisted from the shows if you want.”

“No, he didn’t,” Changbin is hasty to steer Chan away from that particular train of thought. “He seemed really into me, actually— he just said he was gonna be at the next show, and then didn’t show up, so I’m just wondering if I _did_ something, you know?”

“Changbin,” Chan sighs longsufferingly. “That guy looked ready to faint when I said he could come see you backstage — you’re welcome, by the way— and I swear he looked back at you about ten times after when he was walking off with Jinhyung-”

“Hyunjin,” Changbin interjects. 

“If you say so. _Anyway._ It really wasn’t anything you did, dude. Trust me, he was probably just busy.” Chan smiles, getting up from the couch at last and moving over to the seat next to Changbin. He claps him on the back as he walks past. “Besides, we can easily get you another groupie next show if you want one.”

Changbin wonders if Chan realises how different his approach to casual sex is, or if he simply assumes that Changbin really might want to fuck fans as often as Chan does. “I’m good, don’t worry.”

Chan shrugs. “Up to you— just let me know if you change your mind, yeah? There’s always like ten people trying to get back for you every show, you know?”

Changbin startles a little. “There is?”

“Yeah, you just said you weren’t into that, so we haven’t been letting any of them back,” Jisung confirms Chan’s words. “You never come to the stageside door after the show like we do, so you’d never see them.”

“Honestly, I thought your lil groupie was coming back with Jinhyung-” Changbin looks at him pointedly, and Chan waits for a moment as he remembers the right name “-was coming back with _Hyunjin_ for me, but then he started going on about how much he wanted to meet you. He’s pretty as hell, so I figured you could do with the lay.”

Changbin would protest, but Chan wasn’t exactly wrong. The stress relief from that, however, had more or less been superseded at this point by his worry that he’d somehow scared Minho off. 

“Did you guys even fuck?” Jisung asks. It’s the casual manner of a friendship with no boundaries.

“No, he just blew me and then I got him off,” Changbin replies. “Didn’t really have the time or space for much else, especially after _someone,”_ he glares pointedly at Jisung, “started hammering on my door.”

“Curfew!” Jisung pleads defence, holding up his hands. “Blame the venue, not me.”

“You’re right, sorry,” Changbin says, despite knowing Jisung wasn’t really all that upset by his ire. “I’m just tense.”

“Are you gonna be too stressed to work on the track?” Chan asks, watching as Changbin rolls his shoulders, trying to ease the tension. 

He shrugs. “I can try, but my heads a bit of a mess, honestly. You know how I get when I overthink.”

His friends nod; they do indeed know all too well from a plethora of past experience. “Me or Chan-hyung this time?” Jisung asks, and Changbin is confused by the question for a second until Jisung scoots his chair just that little bit closer, his slim hand moving to rest on Changbin’s thigh. 

Oh. So _that’s_ what Jisung’s getting at. It’s been a while, but it’s hardly an unwelcome prospect. When you’ve messed around with people for as many years as the unspoken arrangement between the three of them, you’re hard-pressed to find anyone who can get you off better. Changbin decides not to mention that Minho had been one such exception. 

Changbin smiles a little, the barely held back neediness in Jisung’s tone reassuring. It really has been a while since they’ve done this, and it seems that Jisung has missed it. “You can, Sungie,” he replies, and he’d laugh at how quickly Jisung scrambles to kneel in front of Changbin if it wasn’t so hot. Not five minutes prior, Jisung had been making jokes about him. Now he’s perfectly good, undoing Changbin’s zipper with an ease borne of years of practice doing so. Jisung usually makes them work for it a little bit more than this, but he’s pent up too, so it seems, skipping past his token brattiness straight to the pliant state he always reaches eventually. 

_This is exactly what Changbin needs._

Looking up from Jisung between his legs, he’s unsurprised to see Chan with a hand already down his pants, stroking himself slowly at the sight of his two best friends. Chan always loves to watch, and this is no exception. Despite expecting exactly this from him, Changbin still shivers as their eyes meet, the elder smiling as Changbin blushes a little under his gaze. Chan is just so _intense_ to fuck around with. “Go on, Sungie,” Chan prompts impatiently, “we have work to do after this.”

In literally any other situation, Jisung would hit Chan for talking to him like that. Here, however, he shifts uncomfortably on the floor, whining soft in his throat as he presses down briefly against the bulge in his jeans. He goes no further, though— as much as he’ll complain about it, Jisung enjoys having to wait. Instead of that, instead of complaining about Chan’s tone, nor Changbin’s as he too urges him on, Jisung does exactly as he’s told. 

———————— 

Minho is there at the next gig. 

Perhaps Changbin’s legs want to give way when he notices him in the crowd a few songs in, but he tries not to let it show. Though he attempts to keep up his usual unbothered stage persona, his eyes can’t help but stray a few times. Each time they do, he sees Minho watching him. While Changbin is on stage, it’s as if Minho’s eyes are glued to him, watching his every move. It’s more than a little flustering, and Changbin forces himself not to dwell on it too much, lest it mess up the show. 

Backstage for a minute as the crowd loudly roars their need for _one more song,_ Chan throws his arm around Changbin’s shoulders. He’s sweaty, and Changbin shoves him off with a wrinkled nose as Chan asks if he’s noticed who’s back. When Changbin nods, Chan checks with him if it’s okay for him to let Changbin’s groupie’s friends backstage, and grins as Changbin gives him the go-ahead. Hyunjin has someone with him this time, and they seem close enough (when Changbin’s looked away from Minho long enough to notice) that Changbin reckons Chan is _actually_ getting a double deal tonight. Chan seems excited by the prospect, and understandably so. Hyunjin’s friend is absolutely gorgeous. 

Changbin treats the encore as a test, staring Minho down for nearly his entire verse in _We Go._ Minho doesn’t break eye contact, though his eyes grow wider with each second Changbin watches him squirm in the crowd, and Changbin takes it as a tentative cue that maybe Minho _had_ just been busy. When Chan heads to go get Hyunjin and his friend after he’s given the general crowd ten minutes or so to die down afterwards, Changbin stops him for a second. “Chan-” he pauses, embarrassed to say it. He doesn’t want to deal with the mass of fans to do it himself, though. 

“Yes?” Chan turns, smiles as he sees Changbin fidgeting. “What is it, Bin?”

“Can you, uh, when you-”

“You want me to pull your little groupie back again, huh?”

Changbin can feel the blush, and looks down at the ground so that he doesn’t have to meet Chan’s eyes as he nods. “Yeah.”

“On it,” Chan says cheerily, walking off and leaving Changbin to wallow in his fast-growing anxiety. _What if Minho doesn’t even want to come back, this time?_

That, at least, is soon disproved. Chan returns shortly, a giggling Hyunjin and his pretty friend in tow. Chan doesn’t tend to go for do-overs, but apparently (Changbin hadn’t asked, but Chan had been forthcoming nonetheless), Hyunjin was a ‘great lay’. Maybe that’s the reason, but Changbin thinks it’s the threesome opportunity that really got him back again, no matter how gorgeous Hyunjin is. With them, and this is what Changbin focuses on the most, is Minho. 

There’s a moment of tense silence when they meet as a group, Changbin and Minho staring at each other, but Chan soon breaks it. “Dibs on the dressing room!” he says, walking quickly off before Changbin can even attempt to contest it. There’s only one dressing room today, and Chan has just laid claim to it. Hyunjin and the other guy follow after him, waving to Minho with knowing smiles before they leave. It’s a similar look to the one Chan had given Changbin. 

“Uh,” Changbin laughs awkwardly. It’s different from last time, now that they know each other that bit more. There’s a history to this meeting that hadn’t been present when Changbin had found Minho stumbling around backstage. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Minho smiles. He’s shy again, and Changbin hopes he’ll get the opportunity to coax the real him out once more. 

“Where were y-”

“I’m sorry ab-”

They both speak at once, and laugh at their synchronicity. “You go,” Changbin prompts, miming zipping his mouth shut. Minho giggles, and it’s far too pretty to be legal.

“I’m sorry about your last show,” Minho finishes his sentence. “I was planning on coming, like I said, but then work called me in and I really needed the hours.”

Of course, there was a completely reasonable explanation. There often was, but knowing there would probably be valid reasons never quite quietened the anxious thoughts. It’s a relief to hear it now, still. Minho _had_ wanted to be there— perhaps even as much as Changbin had wanted to see him. Even though he’s not the fan in their dynamic, Changbin realises he may well be the one who’s grown attached too fast. Even so, he pushes the thought down. “No dressing room this time,” he points out instead. “There’s just the one, and I don’t think either of us wanna walk in there right now.”

“We can go somewhere else,” Minho replies, and it’s the same sort of _fast, too fast_ that had clued Chan and Jisung on to Changbin’s dilemma before. He looks away from Changbin, then, playing with the sleeves of his oversized knit sweater and biting his lip nervously. “If you want to, I mean. I know I kinda sprung myself on you, and all.”

“I asked Chan-hyung to bring you back, today,” Changbin says, and the way Minho’s whole face lights up does something painful to the already present ache in Changbin’s chest. Nobody should actually be that beautiful. “Do you want to come back to my hotel— we can talk?”

_‘Talk’._ They’d certainly done a lot of that last time.

“Sure,” Minho smiles, and there it is— there’s a slight edge to his expression. It’s only a little, but he’s creeping back into the confidence Changbin has been dreaming about since the other show. “I’d be down to talk.”

———————— 

They pull on their face-masks and make a run for it to the taxi rank, jumping inside the nearest car before the fans still milling outside can really register SpearB sprinting past them with some stranger. Panting from the sudden burst of exertion, they laugh breathlessly as they stare at each other in the dim light. Instead of moving away from Changbin, Minho sits in the middle seat, their thighs pressing together. Changbin doesn’t look away from Minho even as he tells the taxi driver the hotel’s address. 

It’s a strange feeling of suspended reality, one that only him and Minho really occupy as they keep looking at each other. Tense, but not in a bad way. The air practically crackles with anticipation, and Minho’s thigh feels like it’s burning Changbin where they touch. Changbin’s hands are fidgeting in his lap, but he wants to touch him even more. In the background, the driver is playing something on the radio, but it fades out to white noise. It feels too much to be built from so little time, but it’s all consuming in the best sense, and Changbin doesn’t mind that at all. Instead, he shifts a little closer, presses more against Minho’s side. Feels him shiver. 

“We’re here,” the driver calls, and they both jump as if they’ve been caught doing something illicit. Changbin hurries to pay for them both, batting away Minho’s offer to split the fare, and tugs Minho out of the car, closing the door behind them. The driver speeds off. Changbin’s attention falls back to Minho. He’s still holding his hand, and loosens the grip he has on it a little to give him the opportunity to pull away if he wants to.

He doesn’t. Instead, Minho holds on tighter, fingers trembling a little but his grip firm as they walk into the hotel. 

Already checked in from earlier that day, Changbin heads straight to the elevator, Minho following behind him. The receptionist gives them a disinterested once-over, but they otherwise go unnoticed. The elevator is empty. Once Changbin has pressed the button for the tenth floor, the door closes behind them, and Changbin realises belatedly that he’s alone with Minho now, in a confined space that doesn’t appear to have a camera. It’s an oversight on the hotel’s part, but a blessing for Changbin as he crowds Minho into one corner. 

“Miss me?” Minho asks, trying to sound casual. He fails, breath hitching as Changbin’s hands grip at his waist. 

“Yeah,” Changbin admits, temporarily without shame. Minho visibly flustered is a sight that lends him strength. There’s still the near-ghost of a mark on Minho’s neck, and Changbin feels a little giddy as he remembers leaving it there. He leans in closer, feels Minho’s pulse thrum as Changbin presses soft kisses over the arch of his neck. “You’re so pretty,” he says, and it buzzes against his skin. “So pretty for me, hyung.”

Minho groans, and it tapers off into a whine as Changbin’s teeth graze over the faded hickey. He hesitates, just as he had before, but this time it’s more to get Minho to ask for it than it is to check he’s okay with marks. “Changbin, pl-”

The door opens, and they spring apart, expressions guilty as they’re interrupted. Changbin jolts a little when Minho’s hand slips into his back pocket, groping his ass out of sight as the elderly couple who’ve just entered the elevator stare at them judgmentally. Changbin’s half-hard already, and keeps his hands in front of his crotch for the final three floors, where they hurry to escape the uncomfortable atmosphere. 

“Great timing, huh?” Changbin jokes, but when he glances over at Minho he’s not laughing.

“Where’s your room?” Minho asks instead, and Changbin’s stomach feels like it’s about to crawl out of his throat all of a sudden. The look in Minho’s eyes is downright predatory, and it’s making Changbin’s pulse skyrocket.

“Just d-down the hall,” Changbin says, cursing himself as his words catch on a slight stammer. “Fifth on the left.”

This time it’s Minho that grabs Changbin’s hand, the confidence that had been haunting Changbin’s every waking moment since they last hooked up suddenly all too present. “Come on, then,” he urges, tugging at Changbin as he stays frozen for a second, brain slightly shutting down. “Don’t you want to be alone with me?” Minho adds, drawing out each word into something like a whine.

Minho’s gaze is searing, and Changbin hurries to answer before that confidence can falter. This side of Minho comes and goes, and Changbin wants to fan the spark. “Yes.” His tone is absolute. Minho smiles prettily, and this time Changbin is easy to pull along. They’re at his door in what seems like a split second, and Minho pouts at Changbin until he’s pulled the key fob from his backpack. It gets lost for a second underneath random cables and empty crisp packets, and Changbin’s heart stops for a second until his fingers close around it and emerge, victorious. He doesn’t think he could bear it if they had to go and get a replacement. 

“You’re so cute,” Minho says, watching Changbin fumble with the key, laughing softly as the compliment makes him blush. _“So_ cute.”

“Shut up,” Changbin says as he wins the struggle with the door at last, opening it a little too enthusiastically and stumbling into his room. Minho catches him by the waist, giggling all the while at his clumsiness. “Shut _up…”_ Changbin repeats, knowing it’s futile. 

“Make me,” Minho bites back, pushing the door closed behind them with his heel. They kick off their shoes, and their height difference becomes still more pronounced without the aid of Changbin’s insoles. “Oh my God,” Minho says, or rather _coos,_ “you are _so_ tiny.”

“I’ll fight you,” Changbin retorts, but it’s a weak response at best.

“I’m counting on it.”

Changbin rises to the bait, closing the distance between them and backing Minho up against the door he’s just closed. “This what you wanted, hyung?” he asks, thigh slotting between Minho’s legs just a little. He doesn’t move any further, waiting to see what Minho will do. 

“No.”

“Oh?”

“Kiss me,” Minho says, not begging but blatantly demanding it. Changbin can’t decide which option affects him more, though the way he wants to give in at once perhaps points to the latter. “Can’t stop fucking thinking about last time, you’re driving me _insane,_ baby…” he groans. “Kiss. Me.”

“You’re so hot,” Changbin breathes out lowly, reaching up to tangle his fingers in Minho’s hair. And, sure, it’s a little bit more of a gap than last time— Changbin isn’t sitting on a tabletop, for one. Minho doesn’t seem to mind, the little sigh he lets out as Changbin pulls his hair just the same as before. He takes the cue, leaning down as Changbin’s hands in his hair pull still harder, and Changbin closes the distance. 

With the lack of first-time nerves comes distinctly less hesitation on both of their parts, but especially on Minho’s. It’s ruinous. Minho pulls Changbin’s hair right back, pulls him close enough that their lips must be bruising. If they don’t from that, the way Minho’s teeth sink into Changbin’s lower lip will ensure it. He’s the one pinned against the door, _he’s_ the one rutting against Changbin’s thigh, but when it comes to who’s in control of their kiss? The answer is still undoubtedly Minho. Changbin finds himself entirely out of his depth, Minho such a fucking good kisser that it feels like he’s chasing to keep up, dizzy with the feeling. 

When Changbin breaks the kiss at long last, he’s out of breath and swaying a little, Minho’s arm around his waist, steadying him. “You’re _so_ pretty like this,” Minho murmurs, thumb coming up to trace Changbin’s swollen lips. “Prettiest baby.”

For a moment or so, Changbin can’t remember what words even are, let alone how to speak. “Fuck,” he says then, and it’s all he _can_ say in response to that. 

“Gladly,” Minho replies easily, though Changbin is pressed up against him enough that he feels how he’s shaking, too. It’s a grounding sense of solidarity. “Any preference?” 

Changbin thinks about it, considers both the options. He’s never really gone for one dynamic over the other, far more open to switching roles than his groupmates. It makes him a middle ground, of sorts, when they fool around fully. Not that _that_ is a frequent occurrence. Besides, he doesn’t want to be thinking about them right now, not when Minho is all his for the taking. Or vice versa. Changbin shakes his head. “Either is good with me, hyung,” he replies, speaking a little slower than usual to beat off the rising danger of stumbling over the words. “Whatever you want is good with me.”

“That’s a dangerous statement to make, baby,” Minho warns. His arms are tight around Changbin’s waist. Changbin focuses on the feeling, tries to steady his heart rate. “Are you sure about that?”

Changbin gulps. Nods. “I am, hyung.”

“Good,” Minho replies with a smile, one that grows as Changbin visibly startles at the word. “Because hyung knows _exactly_ what he wants, baby.”

His eyes only have a second to widen at the sentence, and then Changbin finds himself being walked backwards, no longer pushing Minho against the door but being pushed in turn until his legs hit the edge of his bed. Minho pushes again, and Changbin’s legs crumple, sending him crashing back onto the mattress. “Hyung?” he says, and it comes out so small that he can barely recognise his own voice. He sounds so _needy._

Minho joins him on the bed, urging Changbin backwards until he’s sat with his back against the pillows and Minho in his lap. “You okay?” he checks, cause Changbin is absolutely dying a little right now, and it must be more than obvious.

“Yeah,” he replies quickly, not wanting any of this to stop. “You’re just so, _fuck,_ hyung, I-”

“I’m ‘just so fuck’, am I?” Minho says, smiling at Changbin’s inability to form a proper sentence. Grinding down against Changbin’s lap, he ensures that continues. “Adorable…”

_“Hyuuung,”_ Changbin whines, grabbing at Minho’s waist, trying to help guide him down against him. Minho slaps his hands away and pauses for a second, obviously checking if it’s too much. When Changbin doesn’t protest past pouting at him, Minho seems to take that as his okay to continue, wrapping his dainty hands around Changbin’s wrists and holding them together. Changbin is more than strong enough to break his hold in seconds, but he doesn’t even try. Minho uses the grip to steady himself as well as keep Changbin’s hands still, moving his hips in small circles that feel far, far too good. It makes Changbin want to cry from desperation. “Minho-hyung, please,” he groans, heart rate increasing still further when Minho coos over his neediness.

“What do you want, baby?”

_“More,”_ Changbin urges, hoping that the word is enough. With anyone else, perhaps it wouldn’t have been, but Changbin knows that Minho is still a little starstruck beneath his current control. 

When Minho looks wont to deny him, but doesn’t, Changbin silently counts it as a victory. “I can give you more, I suppose…” Minho muses then, moving one hand down between them to pop the button on Changbin’s jeans, tracing one finger over his zipper just to watch him squirm before he relents and pulls it down. One of Minho’s hands is barely enough to cover one side of Changbin’s wrists, let alone hold them in place, but Changbin keeps them together still. This breaks only when Minho shuffles awkwardly back off Changbin’s lap, a necessary evil to pull the jeans off. Minho coos again once he does so, tracing over the damp spot on Changbin’s underwear with a pleased smile. “You really want me, huh?”

“Would _hope_ I’d made t-that obvious by now,” Changbin replies, words catching a little when Minho palms over his boxers. “Do you want _me,_ hyung?” he asks, flipping the question and taking him off guard.

“Uh, yes,” Minho falters, eyes doing that can’t-quite-believe-his-luck thing that makes Changbin’s ego double in size. “Yes.” This time, he’s more decisive. “I do.”

“I’m glad,” Changbin smiles, batting his eyes at Minho and preening internally as the elder bites his lip. _Got him._ For now, at least. “How do you want me, hyung, exactly?”

“What I _want,”_ Minho says, tugging Changbin’s boxers down, “is exactly what I said last time, when we didn’t have long enough. Do you remember, baby?”

Changbin thinks back, wracking his brains. Minho’s hands are on his thighs, kneading over the faint bruises left in the shape of his fingertips. Changbin remembers, and can tell it’s obvious when he does so; Minho smiles ever-so-slightly, and he feels a rush of anticipation. “Yes.”

_Wish we had longer— wanna sit on this so bad._

“Would baby like that, too?” Minho asks cutely, pulling a condom from his jeans just as before. He hands it to Changbin, whose hands are shaking to the point that he almost drops it as Minho trails one finger over the length of him. This time, he doesn’t crack a joke about him coming prepared. “Want hyung to sit on that pretty cock?”

Head spinning a little still, Changbin nods. His dynamic with Minho is so push-and-pull that it’s almost too much to keep up with. “Please, hyung.”

“Take your shirt off.”

“Wh-” Changbin is taken off guard, but his hands move faster than his brain, fingers already curling around the slightly bunched off fabric.

“Wanna see you all this time,” Minho pouts. “Only got half the experience in that dressing room.”

“You too, then,” Changbin counters, pulling his shirt slowly up. Minho bites his lip again as he watches him, gaze so heated that Changbin can feel it on his skin. He stops halfway, just beneath where the muscles of his pecs start to swell. “Why am I the only one nearly naked, here?” 

“Because you’re better behaved than I am,” Minho replies. Changbin laughs a little under his breath. Minho isn’t altogether _wrong._

“Still,” Changbin doesn’t deny it, “I want to see you too, hyung.” Unsaid, though clear, is that Changbin will wait to take his own shirt off until Minho has somewhat evened the tipped scales. 

“Fine, fine,” Minho says flippantly, though his cheeks are flushed as Changbin openly stares, head pillowed on his forearms behind him. Waiting. Minho fumbles with the buttons of his shirt, pausing a moment to compose himself, and then proceeds with steadier hands, staring Changbin down in turn. Button by button, a vast expanse of smooth skin is exposed. Changbin wants to mark every inch of it. When the last button is reached, Minho shrugs the shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall to the bed. He arches his back, showing off, and Changbin’s eyes aren’t quite sure where to linger first. “Hey,” Minho grabs his attention, gesturing to the t-shirt still halfway up Changbin’s torso. “Off.”

“Demanding, aren’t you, hyung,” Changbin remarks, though does as he’s told, lifting his arms and pulling the t-shirt off his head. He flings it somewhere to the side, a problem for future him to deal with. 

“I’d be worried if you hadn’t realised that by now, baby,” Minho retorts. 

“Oh, I have, don’t worry,” Changbin replies, watching Minho’s eyes run slowly over his body. His eyes seem to take a moment to focus, to realise a _very_ important aspect about shirtless Changbin. It’s one that most people are surprised by once clothes start coming off, and Minho is no exception, his mouth actually falling open. It opens and closes a few times before he’s able to speak. 

“Y-You. You have-”

He’d got them done a couple years ago, a result of Jisung daring him to. Looking back on it with the hindsight of how oddly intuitive Jisung can be at times, Changbin is pretty sure his friend could somehow tell he’d already wanted them. Long healed, Changbin likes to switch up the jewellery, tending towards asymmetry. There’s a ring through his left nipple, a bar through the right, and Minho is staring at Changbin as if he’s just found religion. “You like?” Changbin teases, reaching up to thumb at the ring, putting on a show. It makes him gasp, but it’s worth it for the expression it elicits from Minho. 

“Are you sensitive there, then?” Minho says, voice cracking a little.

“I was before, but after the piercings? Unreal, yeah.”

He’d feel very insecure right now if it wasn’t for how visibly turned on Minho is by the sight of him. Though he’s still half-clothed, Changbin can tell that Minho is just as hard as he is. “You’re so fucking hot,” Minho can’t seem to help but say.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Minho moves back within touching distance, flicks lightly against the bar piercing, and lets Changbin unbuckle his ornate belt. Changbin has a horrible feeling that Minho is saving utilising the piercings for later. He pauses at Minho’s fly, looking up. 

“Okay, hyung?”

“Go on,” he gives permission, and so Changbin hurries to pull down the zipper. Minho is so, _so_ much more confident this time, and Changbin isn’t sure how to cope with that. Sitting back, Minho kicks off his trousers, briefs along with them, and now Changbin _really_ doesn’t know where to look first. Minho is already unfairly hot clothed, but this is a whole other level. His trousers already on the floor, Minho seems to realise something belatedly. “Do you have lube with you, baby? There’s a sachet in my back pocket if not.”

_God, it’s been a while since Changbin has had time to fuck anyone._ Not that it looks like he’ll be entirely in control of this. “Yeah, there’s some in my bag.” Minho is clearly expecting Changbin to go over to the overnight bag on the other side of the room, not reach into his backpack. His forehead creases a little in a slight frown. 

“I thought you didn’t fuck groupies...” Minho isn’t pouting visibly, but Changbin can hear it in his voice. “Or was that just a line?”

“I don’t,” Changbin reaffirms, leaning back over the side of the bed to drop the bag on the floor again. When he straightens up, he sees Minho staring at his ass despite the whiny tone. 

“Then why do you need lube in your gig b- Wait.” Something dawns on Minho, and he looks like he’s half incredibly turned on and half about to pass out. “Do you,” his voice comes out choked. “Do you and the, the other two, I mean-”

“Do we fuck?” Changbin asks casually, quite enjoying how much this revelation is messing Minho up. Minho nods shakily. “Yeah, sometimes. Stress relief, and all that. Usually it isn’t full on _fucking_ fucking, though.”

“Oh my God.” 

“You not turning up to the last show really stressed me out, you know,” Changbin tells him, pouting for dramatic effect. Sure, maybe it’s a little mean to play off Minho’s weakness, but he has a feeling he’d do exactly the same were their roles reversed. “Jisungie had to help me focus in the studio the other day.”

Minho swings his head from side to side as if he’s trying to shake loose a sudden storm of thoughts. “Give me a minute.”

“Chan-hyung was watching,” he adds, and Minho chokes on air. “You’re so cute when you get all starstruck.” Changbin’s soft laugh comes out as a giggle instead, and his ensuing embarrassment is enough to bring Minho back to him, hazy eyes refocusing to drink in the sight of Changbin blushing. “You didn’t hear that. I’m still cool.”

“I absolutely heard it,” Minho crawls between Changbin’s thighs to kiss him, and Changbin hisses as the position makes their dicks rub together a little. “Don’t worry, _SpearB,”_ the name comes out more as a taunt than anything else— Minho can’t have forgotten how Changbin said not to call him that off-stage, “you’re still my favourite.”

“That is _such_ a boner killer, hyung-” Changbin starts to protest, but bites down on a whimper seconds later as Minho grinds down against him, deliberately pushing them together again. 

“Is it?” Minho says sweetly. “Doesn’t feel like that to me.”

“You’re so annoying,” Changbin groans, complaining to distract himself from the feeling of Minho caging him in like this. It’s so much to deal with when Minho is this fucking hot, and he doesn’t need to come just from a bit of grinding. 

“Thank you, baby.” Minho rocks forward once more, and Changbin has half a mind to ask Minho to change his plans. He really wouldn’t mind if the night ended up with him getting fucked instead, despite Minho’s current intentions. “I pride myself on that.”

Minho’s hands are tight on his hips now, holding Changbin down against the bed with a bruising grip. He’s over him, surrounding him, and Changbin can’t _help_ but say it. “You can fuck me if you want to, hyung.” The words come out in a needy jumble, strung together and near-incoherent. Changbin is fast growing desperate for anything more than this.

“Cute,” Minho replies, and dips his hand down further between Changbin’s thighs. His thumb presses flat against Changbin’s hole, the feeling as fleeting as it is overwhelming, and Changbin chokes on a pitiful whine. “Tempting, but I didn’t prep before the show for nothing, baby boy,” he counters. Changbin’s mind is at once filled with images of Minho fucking himself open, thinking of Changbin as he does so. His cock jumps against his stomach, leaking precum onto his skin. The lube has fallen from Changbin’s hand onto the bed at this point, his mind too distracted to remember to hold onto it, and Minho now picks it up. “How about I fuck you next time?”

_Next time._ There’s weight in those words, but not in a way that Changbin minds at all. Minho meets his eyes, a slight falter in his confident expression, and Changbin nods to reassure him. “Next time, y-yeah. That works.” 

Minho seems to fight the urge to smile, then schools his features once more. The moment isn’t broken. If anything, the weighted promise of _next time_ makes it even more intense. Perhaps it’s that, knowing he’ll have a chance to ruin him again, that makes Minho decide to stop teasing Changbin for now. Maybe he’s just taken pity on him. Either way, Changbin thanks every deity under the sun as Minho sits back, spreading his legs so that Changbin can see every part of him. He’s shaven smooth, impossibly pretty. “You like?” Minho teases, Changbin slack-jawed and near to drooling. 

Dumbly, he nods. “Uh huh.”

“Is baby just gonna watch, or will hyung get to feel those pretty fingers, hm?” Minho asks, and Changbin feels ready to self-combust. He shivers, and Minho _knows_ why. He grabs Changbin by the wrist, tugging him closer. Chaste, far too much so for their current position, Minho kisses Changbin’s fingertips. He bites his lip, forcing back the whine that threatens to bubble free. “Do you like it when I call you pretty, Changbin?”

“Yes.” There’s no point in denying it, not when Changbin knows exactly how obvious he is with his emotions. “I really like it, hyung.”

_“Such_ a pretty baby, Binnie,” Minho tells him, voice oh-so-sweet as he watches Changbin’s cock leak still more at the praise. It’s the nickname, too— it makes Changbin feel even cuter. Minho kisses his fingers again then, bites at the tips of them and watches the indents fade. Changbin’s fingers in Minho’s mouth is one of the hottest things he’s ever seen, bar perhaps the other man on his knees between Changbin’s legs in that cramped dressing room. “Could probably just lube you up right now and get to it,” Minho muses, still holding Changbin’s hand close to his lips. He can feel him speak. “But hyung wants to feel _these-”_ he pauses, kisses his fingers yet again before he lets go, “-first. Can you do that for hyung, Binnie?”

Changbin takes a second to break past the loop of _holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck_ that’s currently cycling around his brain, and then nods eagerly. “Yes, hyung.” He really doesn’t know how Minho is real, and how he’s here with him. 

“Hand.” Minho waits until Changbin holds one hand out, and then pops open the cap of the lube bottle, squirting some out onto Changbin’s waiting fingers. No stranger to finding himself in this position, he warms it up before he reaches between Minho’s parted thighs. “Come on, baby,” Minho says impatiently when Changbin pauses just before he touches him. “Don’t make me wait.”

His neediness is as cute to Changbin as his own seems to Minho, but he bites his tongue instead of commenting on it, focusing instead on the sight before him. Near-reverent, Changbin traces one lubed-up finger around Minho’s rim, noticing how it’s slightly puffy from the prep he’d mentioned earlier. “So gorgeous, hyung,” he says, pushing his finger slightly against him and feeling how easily he’ll give with just that slightest bit more pressure. He does it again, and Minho keens. “Fuck, you look so hot like this. Can’t believe I get to have you.”

“Pretty sure, _ah,”_ Minho groans as Changbin pushes the first finger in to the knuckle. “Pretty sure I should be the one that’s saying that.”

“No,” Changbin disagrees. Not when Minho is so pretty and spread out like this for him. “I’m definitely the winner here.”

“You’re not _my_ groupie,” Minho counters, shifting his hips to move Changbin’s finger deeper. He lets him without complaint. A small voice in Changbin’s head balks at the word ‘groupie’, thinks that Minho already feels like more than that, but he pushes it down and away. Out of sight, out of mind. Now isn’t the time. 

“If you were an idol I just might be,” Changbin replies, watching as Minho’s eyes widen at the statement. Or maybe it’s at the feeling of a second finger slipping in beside the first. Changbin thinks it’s a bit of both, though doesn’t pay much thought to such a debate. The pretty little whimper Minho lets out when Changbin starts moving his hand is far more captivating. 

Minho rocks back onto him, grinding against Changbin’s hand. “More,” he demands, “I’m already fucking prepped, baby.”

Changbin knows he is, knows the two fingers aren’t enough to satisfy him, but he’s revelling in the control that comes with Minho’s growing desperation. Still, he does as he’s told and adds another. Minho was right— Changbin really _is_ more obedient than he is. The third finger is a slight stretch; Changbin’s hands, though not all that big, are still larger than Minho’s, but it’s one Minho soon adjusts to. Minho holds onto his own thighs, spreads them still further with a remarkable degree of flexibility, and Changbin watches in awe. “How did I get you?” he murmurs, more to himself than to the other man, but Minho hears it anyway.

“Talent,” Minho replies somewhat bluntly, grinning unrepentantly up at Changbin. “That, and you’re hot as fuck on stage, darling.”

“Only on stage?” Changbin pouts, crooking his fingers in search of more pretty moans. He’s rewarded by Minho’s lower lip caught between pretty teeth, head tilted back and whining. “What about right now?”

“Oh, you’re still hot, baby,” Minho replies, voice a little shaky, “though _cute_ is the word I’d sooner use for you like this.” Changbin makes a complaining _hmph_ sort of noise, but Minho is quick to defend his stance. “You’re literally pouting at me three fingers deep in my ass, sweetie.”

Yeah, Changbin will give him that. “I’ll take it,” he acquiesces.

“Well, technically _I’m_ the one about to,” Minho replies, with the look of someone who has just told an absolutely terrible joke and is incredibly proud of it nonetheless. It takes Changbin a moment to get it, but he swats at Minho’s arm with his free hand when he does.

“That was _awful,_ hyung!”

“Would you rather I _didn’t_ take it?”

Changbin rolls his eyes, keeps moving his hand to distract Minho from making any more God-awful puns. “My bad,” he says with a complete lack of sincerity. “You’re so incredibly funny.”

Minho rolls his hips, moans at the feeling. “Want more now,” he demands. He sounds a mixture of dominant and spoiled, and it’s far too lovely a combination. 

“More what?”

“You _know_ what, Binnie,” Minho replies, and Changbin can tell that he isn’t going to beg right now. It’s a shame, because Minho sounds so pretty when he does. Minho pushes his hand away, Changbin’s fingers making a downright lewd sound as they leave him, and whines despite himself at the sudden loss. “And you want it just as much as I do, don’t you, baby?”

Changbin can’t lie to him. “Of course I do, hyung.” 

“Go on, then.” Minho doesn’t even need to say what he’s telling Changbin to do. He knows. 

Changbin fumbles around on the bed beside him, not looking away from Minho as he does so, and grabs onto the condom sachet. Minho is a sight for sore eyes, radiant as he sits back with his legs still spread, watching Changbin. He rolls on the condom with shaking hands, Minho’s intense eyes enough to make even the strongest-willed man tremble. It shouldn’t be so affecting to simply be _watched_ by someone pretty, but Minho is so, _so_ pretty like this. Changbin is soft and easily flustered at the best of times, so he really has no chance. He can feel himself blushing again, can see Minho’s gaze lingering on his rose-dusted cheekbones. 

“So cute, Binnie,” Minho says, and Changbin shivers, bucking up into his fist where it still surrounds him. “Baby, wait for me…” Minho chides, pouting, and Changbin’s hand falls away at once. 

“Sorry, hyung.” He doesn’t know quite why he says it, but part of him feels like he should. Moments later, he’s glad of it.

“Good boy,” Minho praises him for it, and _fuck_ does that do something to Changbin. His eyes go wide and he whines a little, low in his throat but audible. Minho coos over him yet again— it’s almost like he never stops. “Like that, baby?” he asks, and Changbin nods slowly. “Wanna be my good boy, Binnie?”

Minho is almost too much to cope with, but Changbin doesn’t think he’s ever wanted anyone so completely. Feeling like he’s about to come just from the string of cute names one after the other, the possessive note — _his_ good boy —, Changbin doesn’t trust himself to speak. Instead, he nods once more, and is rewarded by Minho climbing back into his lap. He grinds down against him, Changbin feeling his cock sliding messily between Minho’s asscheeks, and he wants to cry, he really wants to cry. _“Hyung…”_ he groans, and the word is both nothing and everything. Nothing in its brevity, and yet everything in all it conveys, whining and desperate and a million repetitions of _please_ all in one. Changbin prays that Minho understands.

“It’s okay, Binnie.” _He does._ “Hyung needs you, too.”

Changbin thinks back to the dressing room, to how he’d tried to stop himself from begging for a little while. The thought is laughable now, as he forces himself to remember how to speak. “Go on then, hyung,” he urges him. “Please.”

Minho looks down at him, at Changbin flushed and begging beneath him, and smiles. “You’re so intimidating on stage, you know that?” he muses, dragging his thumb across Changbin’s lips, pushing it past as they part. Changbin’s mouth closes around him, sucking on the digit almost gratefully. When Minho replaces it with two fingers, Changbin swirls his tongue around them, humming as he looks up at Minho through his lashes. “Oh, baby boy,” Minho sighs, and he couldn’t be more obviously getting off on all of this. He pushes his fingers deeper, and Changbin takes them without complaint, flattening his tongue. “If they could only see you now.”

Changbin moans around Minho’s fingers, and Minho seems to revel in it. Reaching between them, Minho wraps his free hand around Changbin’s cock, making his muffled moans grow still louder. Lifting his hips, Minho makes as if he’s lining Changbin up, only to then settle for just rocking down again, Changbin reduced to rutting against him. Changbin can’t speak right now, but he meets Minho’s gaze, trying to convey the plea non-verbally. It’s unfair how much Changbin wants him, and still more unfair how much Minho enjoys making him wait like this. Changbin bats his eyes, as pretty as he’s able. _Please._

“God, you’re so beautiful desperate,” Minho says, and he sounds endeared beyond belief. He pulls his fingers free, wipes them off on the bed sheets. “Do you wanna fuck me, Binnie, huh?”

“Yes,” Changbin is glad of access to words once more. His voice is imbued fully with neediness now, every word coming out like he’s deliberately whining for emphasis. He’s at a point where he can’t even help that. “Want to so much, hyung. Please, hyung.”

“You could have anyone at that show, you know,” Minho hums, tracing Changbin’s jawline like it’s a work of art and then leaning to mouth along it. Changbin’s cock is still pressed up against him, throbbing and desperate, but he ignores it in favour of focusing entirely on Minho. Beautiful Minho, so close and so beautiful. “Could have anyone at _any_ of the shows,” Minho adds, kissing Changbin’s pouty lips once, short and sweet and not enough. He leans back. “But you only want me, don’t you, pretty baby? Isn’t that right?”

Enraptured, Changbin nods at once. “Just you,” he promises, and it should feel too intimate for this, for a second meeting in a cheap hotel. Instead, it feels like he’s been waiting for it. 

“Good boy, Binnie.” Changbin gasps like it’s the first time, and Minho smiles. “You’re far too hard to say no to, you know that?”

“Then don’t,” Changbin replies, trying his best not to make it sound like a demand. He only half succeeds. “Doesn’t hyung need me, too?”

“God,” Minho’s head falls back, his composure breaking and his own neediness seeping through. “Of course I do— who am I kidding?” He looks at Changbin, _really_ looks at him. There’s awe etched across his face, though not of the idol-fan worship kind. Instead, he’s just looking at Changbin like he’s pretty. There’s a tinge of it, of the adoration Changbin had seen that first time, but it’s overshadowed by a simpler kind of want. “Baby boy,” Minho cups Changbin’s cheek, “who could ever resist you?”

“Not you, I hope,” Changbin jokes, and Minho giggles. 

“You’re a loser.”

“Glad you’re realising that at last,” Changbin smiles up at him. “Does it ruin the fantasy?” He’s only half joking, so it’s a relief when Minho shakes his head at once.

“You’re a cute loser, so,” Minho says. His hand is still resting on Changbin’s cheek, and he squishes it to emphasise his point. “Adorable. Still a loser, but adorable.”

“I’ll take it,” Changbin replies, though immediately regrets it when Minho grins. 

He opens his mouth. “Actually-”

“And you call _me_ the loser, hyung?”

“Shush,” Minho moves his hand from Changbin’s cheek, pressing a finger briefly to his lips instead. “Wanna get your dick in me or not? Cause calling me a loser isn’t the way to go.”

“You are _such_ a hypocrite, hy-” Changbin’s voice gives out as Minho wraps a hand around him again, and the older man looks entirely too smug about that fact. This time, when Minho lines him up, Changbin can somehow tell that it’s for real. 

“Changbin?” Minho checks even now, once Changbin has already begged him what seems like a thousand times. He blinks once, twice, doe eyes vulnerable for a moment. “You want this?”

_“Please,_ hyung.”

“Just checking,” Minho smiles, and the vulnerability is swept away. One arm resting against Changbin’s shoulder, Minho moves down just a little, just enough to breach but no more than that. _“Fuck,”_ Minho breathes out, suspended in motion. His other arm loops around Changbin’s neck, bracing himself. 

It’s so _much_ already, though they’ve barely started. Minho is stretched open for him and yet still so tight, so incredible around Changbin that the thought of being fully inside sends him lightheaded. He needs it just the same. In a slight yet ruinous motion, Minho moves down a little further, then pushes himself back up, testing Changbin out as he repeats this a few times. “Hyung?” Changbin says, and Minho’s eyes refocus on him.

“Yes, baby?”

“Can I help?” His voice is small, needy beyond compare.

“You’re so fucking precious, Binnie,” Minho tells him, smile soft despite the slightly strained look on his face. “Of course you can; hands on my waist, sweetheart.”

Though more than experienced, Changbin feels like a blushing virgin, one who’s getting to sleep with some otherworldly being. Minho still doesn’t quite seem real, far too pretty to exist in the harshness of reality. He belongs between the pages of fairy tales, but he _feels_ real, hot and tight and _so_ much. Changbin’s hands splay on his slim waist, and some of the weight of Minho braced against his shoulders is relieved as he relaxes a little into Changbin’s hold. “Like this?” Changbin checks.

“Perfect, baby. So good for me, Binnie,” Minho praises. “Up a little, now.” Changbin does as instructed, lifting him, and Minho takes a break from the pretty whines he’s been making to gasp over Changbin’s biceps. One hand still on Changbin’s shoulder, the other moves to trace the swell of his muscles as they bulge from the effort of holding Minho up. “So fucking hot,” he murmurs. “All of this for me.”

It’s not a question, but Changbin nods just the same. 

“Down now, sweetheart.” Minho isn’t braced much at all, reveling in being reliant entirely on Changbin’s arm strength. Changbin shakes, both from the exertion and from holding back. A large part of him _really_ wants to buck his hips up to meet Minho’s ass, desperate for what’s yet to come. He holds back, waiting his cue, stopping with Minho halfway onto him. “A little more,” Minho urges, “down, down- Stop.”

It’s like torture, almost there but not quite, but Changbin stops. Minho smiles, and Changbin can tell that he’s more than ready, that he’s just teasing him. “Hyuuuung,” he whines, pouting. “Why are you like this?”

“I’ve already told you, darling,” Minho replies, voice dripping with faux-sympathy. It’s hotter than it should be. Cruelly, Minho shifts his hips a little, feeling up Changbin’s biceps again. “You’re cute when you’re desperate. _Up.”_

Oh, how Changbin longs to just drop him, to see Minho’s lips part in a gasp as he sinks down the last couple of inches unexpectedly. Minho deserves it, really, but Changbin doesn’t even consider it. Instead, he dutifully lifts Minho back up, groaning at the feeling, and then waits, just the tip of his dick still inside the other man. “Please?” he tries again, half-convinced by now that his pleas are futile. He wants him so, so bad, but even if he’s sure that Minho’s teasing him, Changbin refuses to move until he’s ready. 

“Poor pretty baby,” Minho sighs. His voice shakes just a little. Changbin knows how much he wants this too, and how hard it must be to hold back not just from Changbin but from himself. Making Changbin wait is taking precedence over Minho’s own neediness, but it seems like it’s a thin line. “Want hyung so much, don’t you, Binnie?” he coos, and when Changbin nods in earnest he lets out a dramatically defeated sigh. It’s giving in to his own desires under the pretence of taking pity on Changbin, and they both know it. “Okay.”

Changbin’s heart leaps in his chest. “Okay what?”

“You know what.”

Changbin knows indeed. Still, he waits. Tilts his head in a charade of obliviousness. “Okay _what,_ hyung?”

_Push and pull. Give and take._ Changbin has waited for so long, yet now he pauses. 

“Want it in real words, huh, baby?” Minho says, an edge to his smile that taunts Changbin for making him wait for the sake of it. “Want me to spell it out?”

Changbin nods, and it’s a tinge of defiance that Minho seems to enjoy. “Yes.”

Minho leans in close, wraps his arms back around Changbin’s neck like an embrace. It’s soft, gentle, everything both of them _don’t_ particularly want by now. Minho’s lips trail along Changbin’s jawline, feather-light. He’s drawing it out too. Reaching Changbin’s ear, Minho nips at the lobe, pulls one piercing lightly between his teeth before moving back a millimetre or so. When he speaks, soft though it is, it’s loud from sheer proximity. _“Let go,_ Binnie.”

And so he does. Changbin moves his hands away from Minho’s hips and he drops down, taking Changbin’s cock in its entirety. 

Though he’s the one who set this off, and therefore technically should have anticipated how it would feel, Changbin is still taken entirely aback. Tears prick at his eyes and he blinks repeatedly to hold them at bay, Minho warm and tight and all around him. “Fuck,” Changbin gasps out, and though his voice is lower than a whine it cracks in the middle of the word. “Fuck, hyung, fuck fuck f-”

Minho kisses him to quieten the stream of curses, and Changbin deliberately focuses just on that, on Minho’s lips and not Minho’s _everything else._ Sure, Changbin hasn’t had sex in a couple of months, but this isn’t just that. There’s something about this, about Minho, that is just so, so far beyond incredible. When Minho pulls back, eyes blown and wanting, lips kiss-bruised and swollen, Changbin wonders how he got this lucky. “You okay?” Minho checks, watching Changbin intently for any signs of discomfort. It’s ironic, considering Changbin’s the one stretching Minho open right now, but appreciated, nonetheless. 

“I’m fine,” he reassures, “you’re just. Wow.”

“Strong words,” Minho laughs prettily, making Changbin wish he was still kissing him. In an unwelcomely invasive thought, Changbin thinks that Jisung would drag the absolute fuck out of him for being so overwhelmed by just a pretty boy sitting on his dick. He really isn’t usually like this, at least not to such an extent, and certainly not with Jisung. Minho stops him from zoning out by flicking one of his nipple piercings— an effective strategy, Changbin must admit. He’s snapped away from his unwelcome thoughts by his own whining, bucking up involuntarily against Minho and pulling a whine out of him in turn. Minho doesn’t seem to mind, playing with the ring piercing, pulling at it with nimble fingers. “Gonna fuck me now, baby?”

“Like before, or?...”

“No,” Minho says simply, though he does take Changbin’s hands and guide them back to his waist. “Your speed, sweetheart. Surprise me.” 

Though one could argue that this is just control under Minho’s supervision, it’s a control that Changbin basks in, finally able to stop holding back from what he wants. “Sure, hyung?” he asks. Changbin smiles then, and it seems to be the sort of smile that makes Minho a little nervous. _Good._

“Absolutely.”

Remembering how Changbin had taunted Minho in the dressing room, he echoes Minho’s subsequent response. “Your funeral,” Changbin says sweetly, and Minho’s eyes widen just as Changbin’s had back then. Holding tightly onto Minho’s hips, determined to litter them with finger-shaped bruises, Changbin thrusts up into him so hard that Minho cries out. 

Rather than fucking Minho down on his cock like the other man had probably been expecting, Changbin holds Minho still above him, muscles bulging from the effort but absolutely worth it. This is certainly a test of endurance, but it’s a workout Changbin is more than happy to partake in. With each sharp snap up of Changbin’s hips, Minho moans out his name, his arms circling around Changbin to claw at his back. Changbin loves the way that Minho’s prettily manicured nails feel against his skin, soft scratches with the shallower thrusts and digging into him harshly when Changbin fucks him harder. 

When Changbin slows down to mark up Minho’s neck — he really can’t be blamed, not when Minho has his head thrown back right in front of him — Minho whines. “Don’t stop, Binnie,” he complains, and Changbin laughs against his skin, lips brushing over a dark bruise he’s just left there.

“I’m not, hyung,” he argues, fucking up into Minho again to prove his point. Minho chokes out a moan, but the pout remains when Changbin’s pace stays slow. “Just want something to remind you until next time.” Changbin hopes that Minho’s promise of ‘next time’ rings true when he’s not caught up in the moment. Even as he fucks Minho now, he can’t help but imagine the roles reversed. 

“I’m pretty sure you being a _literal_ pain in my ass will be reminder enough, sweetie, but you do you,” Minho retorts, half barbed and half breathless, already sounding _so_ fucked out. It’s music to Changbin’s ears.

“Doing _you_ right now, actually,” Changbin jokes, terrible pun on par with Minho’s earlier one, and Minho moves one hand away from Changbin’s scratched up back to slap him on the arm. 

“Only funny when I do it.”

“Debatable.”

“Nope.”

“Shut up,” Changbin says, and watches Minho’s eyes light up with opportunity. 

“Make me,” he bites back, not for the only time that night, sticking out his tongue immaturely. Changbin can tell just how much he really wants him to, and he’s not one to deny Minho at this point. Just as he’s about to give in, Minho arches his neck, displaying the new line of hickeys like a challenge. “Come on, Binnie,” he whines, pouting. “Fuck me harder already.”

Changbin wants to draw it out even more after hearing that, and if he were more used to the overwhelming feeling of Minho around him, then maybe he would. Right now, though? It’s the first time with Minho, and the first time for Changbin in months— as much as he’d like to deny Minho a little, the idea of denying _himself_ is far too cruel. So he does as Minho demands (though his tone is something closer to a plea), and fucks up into his willing body the hardest he has yet. It’s a combination of Changbin snapping his hips up against Minho and pulling his body down to meet each thrust, and it has Minho moaning so loud that Changbin won’t be surprised if they get a noise complaint. 

He doesn’t care. Just like every moment he’s spent with Minho, this is an ego boost like none other. 

Though Minho writhes in his grasp each time Changbin fucks back upwards, Minho has no real control over their movements currently. He doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest, an airborne pillow princess enjoying not having to put in any of the work. Instead, once he’s accustomed enough to speak once more, Minho devotes himself to making Changbin lose his mind in an entirely different fashion— feeding into his blatant praise kink. “So, s-so hot, baby boy,” he moans, voice cracking when Changbin thrusts into him, “so pretty like this, so good for me.”

“Yeah?” Changbin says, part deliberate nonchalance but mostly the fact that Minho feels too good for Changbin to try and use full sentences right now. 

Minho’s hands move from his back again, feeling up Changbin’s arms as he fucks him, and Minho _absolutely_ has to have a strength kink. Every time Changbin’s biceps bulge when he lifts Minho up, Minho’s dainty hands splayed over them, Changbin feels Minho shudder around him. Strong as Changbin may be, his muscles are starting to ache a little, but he’s pretty sure he can keep this up until they come. It seems, however, that Minho can feel how he slows a little. “Binnie, baby?”

“Yes, hyung?” Changbin slows, making sure Minho is able to somewhat speak. 

“Wanna try me on my back?”

Both a reprieve for his arms and just incredibly hot as a concept, Changbin leaps at the opportunity. Choosing physical action in lieu of a verbal reply, Changbin turns them over. Minho bounces as he hits the pillows, and both men hiss at the unwelcome feeling of Changbin’s dick slipping out of him. “Sorry, sorry,” Changbin apologises, faced with Minho’s cute scowl. His flushed cheeks and swollen lips diminish the effect of his expression somewhat, as does the mess that is his hair currently.

Changbin has never had someone _make grabby hands_ at his dick before, but Minho’s cute enough that it somehow isn’t a turnoff. “Changbin, I swear to God if you don’t put it back in _right now,”_ he threatens, though Changbin is unsure exactly what his threat is. He’s pretty sure that Minho doesn’t have much of an idea, either.

“Denying _either_ of us really isn’t on my to-do list right now, hyung.”

Minho smiles that self-satisfied smile, and Changbin realises a second too late that he’s given him opportunity. “Am _I?”_

“Not after that joke, you aren’t.”

Minho feigns a scandalised expression. _“Binnie!”_ he gasps, humour covering only partly the way he’s near to tearing up from sheer want. He’s playing it all up, but beneath it all he’s desperate. It's funny how the two of them toe the line between humour and depravity. 

Then, however, his expression turns a more serious shade of determined. Deliberately holding _(incredibly intense)_ eye contact, Minho spreads his legs wide, beckons Changbin closer. It’s attractive enough a sight to make Changbin push aside for now that Minho was just _beyond_ lame, which is no small feat. Changbin moves towards him, between those prettily spread thighs, and doesn’t even consider trying to tease Minho at the moment. He’s too pretty and desperate for Changbin’s equally desperate self to cope with drawing anything out. With little grace, though Minho is soon too busy moaning to care, Changbin pushes back into him. 

Beneath him, Minho gives easily, back arching and thighs spreading still further as Changbin’s hands grip onto them. Now he’s not holding onto his hips, Changbin can see the full extent of the pattern of bruises his hands have left there already. Minho is beautiful all marked up like this, neck even prettier than his hips. Changbin wants to absolutely ruin him. He doesn’t realise he’s said it out loud until Minho bats his eyes in a practiced act of innocence, telling him to _go right ahead._ And while, sure, Minho often has the edge between them — so much as there _can_ be a judgement of what’s normal between two people who barely know one another — Changbin really, _really_ wants Minho shaking under him right now. 

So Changbin moves still closer, caging Minho in and gathering up the bedsheets under his hips to prop him up a little. He remembers how Minho had had him like this before, how beautifully helpless he had felt, and shivers as he sees that same emotion mirrored on Minho’s delicately sculpted features. Though Changbin loves it, that loss of control, he loves this too, the soft sounds Minho makes as the new position lets Changbin brush against his sweet spot even easier. He’s still going slow, but it’s with the control of someone who’s deliberately holding back. Minho looks somewhat worried by this, much to Changbin’s pleasure. His breath stutters in his throat and Changbin kisses him, stealing what little he has left. Then, Minho already sounding near ruined, Changbin’s hands find their way back to his slim hips, holding tight over bruises long formed. “Still want more, hyung?”

It sounds like a warning. Changbin certainly intends it as such. 

Instead of replying, Minho hooks his ankles behind Changbin’s back, urging him deeper still with a whine that leaves no doubt whatsoever about his feelings on this. Only then does he speak, wrapped around Changbin, who can feel the older man trembling wherever their bodies touch. _“Please,_ baby,” he begs, voice soft and shaky. Changbin can’t quite believe he’s brought Minho to this. It feels incredible. 

“Of course, hyung,” he promises to a question half unasked. Minho slumps a little, as if in relief. 

Perhaps cruelly, this moment is when Changbin chooses to properly fuck him again. Minho lets out a strangled sort of noise near close to a scream, but it fast dissolves into a steady stream of moans, of _good boy,_ of _so good, Binnie, harder_ as Changbin pushes him into the mattress. He listens to each of Minho’s gasped pleas, and repays them in turn, and they _have_ to be getting a noise complaint after this without a doubt. It doesn’t really matter— 3RACHA rarely play the same small venue twice, and Changbin paid in cash. He won’t be here again. He cares little of that, and far more about the way Minho whimpers each time Changbin’s thrusts are hard enough to slam the headboard into the wall. 

Minho soon reaches a point where even praising Changbin is out of his reach, capable only of stuttered moans and pretty whines that send an already near Changbin still closer to the edge. When Changbin, not sure how much longer he can last, reaches between them, he finds Minho _soaking._ Changbin’s hand is covered in enough precum that the slide is easy as he starts jerking him off in time with fucking into him, or at least _tries_ to. Minho is closer than Changbin realised, and not five seconds after Changbin touching his dick his back arches off the bed.

There’s cum all over both of their chests now, and Minho is letting out the softest little whimpers as Changbin fucks him through it— without any reason to hold back, Changbin lets go as well. This is more than enough to break him. Spilling into the condom with something closer to a keen than a moan, Changbin fucks into Minho until his orgasm too has waned. They're still, and somehow that is overwhelming in itself. Changbin has to think, now.

“Fuck,” Minho breathes out, eyes fluttering back open.

“If you-” Changbin breaks off as he pants, trying to catch his breath. “If you say my stage name right now I will kick you off the bed.”

“Wasn’t going to!” Minho protests. He smiles. _He definitely was._

“Sure, hyung.” Changbin pulls out carefully, knotting the condom and letting out a childish whoop when he manages to throw it successfully into the bin. Minho laughs, that _oh-my-god-you’re-so-lame_ sort of laugh that seems to follow Changbin into every social interaction.

Minho’s pretty expression stays for a few seconds longer, and then he seems to think of something. His expression falls a little, though he attempts to keep up some semblance of a smile. Changbin hates when Minho looks like that, like he’s realised he somehow isn’t worth as much as Changbin knows he is already. “Even if I don’t...” he says, voice small. Changbin wants to cut in, to tell him he was only joking, but then Minho is talking again. “Even if I don’t say that, should I still go now?”

He- He really thinks that Changbin is about to kick him out of his hotel room. “No!” he says at once, and it comes out too loud and borderline weirdly enthusiastic, but Changbin doesn’t much care. As long as it gets the message across that Minho is _absolutely not_ being thrown out. “Stay, hyung.” He then realises how weighted that sounds, an over-expectation on the opposite end of the scale. Changbin doesn’t want Minho to feel obliged. “If you want to, that is,” he hastens to add.

“We’re a bit of a mess, aren’t we?” Minho laughs lightly.

Minho could mean emotionally, or he could mean the fact that they’re both covered in semen. Either would ring true. “Yeah,” Changbin replies. “Wanna get breakfast with me in the morning?” He’s careful not to weight it too far towards platonicness nor towards anything more. Just breakfast, however Minho wants to interpret it. At the very least, it reinforces Changbin’s desire for him to stay.

Minho lights up, and Changbin doesn’t want to admit what that does to him. “Sure, Binnie,” Minho says, pausing as if to check whether that nickname is alright sans fucking. Changbin smiles at him in reassurance— it is. Minho beams, then. “I’d like that.”

They’re both quiet for a moment, and then Changbin registers the unpleasant feeling of cum starting to dry on his bare skin. When he asks Minho somewhat cheesily if he ‘wants to save water’, Minho replies that Changbin would have had to help him walk there anyway. He’s not joking, stumbling against Changbin as soon as they stand, and as bad as Changbin feels for semi-incapacitating the older man, he’s more than a little proud of himself for it. After all, it had only been what Minho had been begging him to do. 

After showering, Minho is somehow even softer. He’s covered in bitemarks and bruises — Changbin has a fair few himself — and yet Changbin’s focus is drawn not to them but to how his hair is drying slightly fluffy. He carries him back to the bed from the shower, Minho playing up the pain and Changbin happily indulging him, and they pull off the top layer of the bedding and throw it into the corner. Tomorrow, Changbin will leave a $100 tip for the poor cleaning staff that he can’t really afford, but thinks they probably deserve. Right now, however, his mind is only on Minho. 

With the dynamic they have, with how they met, it shouldn’t be Changbin who lies awake, wondering what’s next. But here he is, a sleeping Minho curled into his side like a cat with Changbin’s arm around him. He snores softly like one too, little breathy huffs that are _far_ too cute. Minho is far too everything, if that even makes sense. Changbin is sleepy and confused, wondering if it’s strange to be feeling like this. He hopes it isn’t. Minho has been asleep for close to three hours before Changbin’s mind finally fades to white noise, joining him in blissful nothingness.

———————— 

_In the morning, Changbin asks for his number. After a moment of quietly freaking out about having ‘SpearB’s number’, and a moment longer arguing with Changbin about being allowed to set that as his contact, Minho gladly agrees._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!!! if you can spare the time to comment/kudos (especially comment) then they really do make my day :(( i always get so happy when people comment on this fic in particular, as like i said changbin is my ult bias <3
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/scbaes)
> 
> [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/minbinnie)
> 
> thank you for readingggg
> 
> -v <3


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